


THE MARDI GRAS CONUNDRUM

by strippedink



Category: Dark-Hunter Series - Sherrilyn Kenyon, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Gen, New Orleans, Trouble
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8678800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strippedink/pseuds/strippedink





	1. Chapter 1

 

> _— “I’m the top of the food chain and well…you’re the food.”_

* * *

 

AN ANCIENT GREEK LEGEND   
  
Born to extreme wealth, Kyrian of Thrace wielded charm and charisma as powerfully as he wielded his sword. Courageous and bold, he ruled the world around him, and knew nothing save the very passionate side of his nature. Ardent, wild, and restless, he lived his life recklessly. He knew no danger, no limitations. The world was his oyster and he vowed to feed fully from it.  
  
With the strength of Ares, the body and face of Adonis, and the sensuous gifts of Aphrodite, he was sought by all women who saw him. They wanted him for their own, dreamed of possessing the proud warrior prince whose touch was said to be the closest a woman could ever come to paradise.  
  
But he was not a man whose heart was easily tamed. He was a man who lived for the moment, lived for his senses, and for the wild fulfillment of all his desires. He loved pleasure, both the giving and the receiving. The few women who had claimed him for a night of ecstasy lorded it over those who could only dream of touching his exquisite body.  
  
For he was passion. Desire. All things sensual and hot.  
  
A born warrior, he was respected and feared by all who knew of him. And at a time when the Roman Empire was invincible, he, alone, beat the Romans back with a hero’s glee, and brought riches and glory to his name and homeland. For a while, ‘twas said he would be ruler of the known world.  
  
Until an act of brutal betrayal made him the Ruler of the Night.  
  
Now he walks the shadowy realm between Life and the Underworld. Neither man nor beast, he is something else entirely.  
  
He is Solitude. He is Darkness.  
  
He is a shadow in the night.  
  
A restless, lonely spirit whose destiny is to save the very mortals who despise and fear him. He will never know rest or peace until he can find the one woman who will not betray him. The one pure heart who can see past his dark side and bring him back into the light.  
  
_(Excerpt from “Night Pleasures” by Sherrilyn Kenyon)_  
  
…  
  
Bearing through the entire lecture on politics and the affairs related to such a dull topic with squinted eyes, an immense urge to yield to it seeped through the cracks. Bonnie’s attention bounced back and forth from her phone to monitor the time yet again and the large windows that allowed plenty sunlight to invade the quiet classroom. Naturally, her mind wandered to other places. Some mystical, and others more realistic than she cared to analyze while, at the same time, her gaze lost itself in the entrancing beams of weakening light that blinded her momentarily. The sensation alone managed to pull a genuine smile out of Bonnie.  
  
         “See you guys next Friday.”  
  
The words drew Bonnie back to reality after two tortuous hours of an absolutely horrifying experience. The Professor stuffed the ancient-looking books and notes into his leather satchel, succeeding in exiting the auditorium before any of the students.  
  
She, being Bonnie Bennett aka the clumsiest witch roaming the Earth, quickly tucked all her books and loose sheets of paper beneath her arm only to trip on her own feet two steps later and land on the wooden floor unceremoniously, face first.  
  
         “Motherfucker!”  
  
Cursing her uncoordinated existence to all known deities, Bonnie took a second to contemplate every piece of paper and book scattered all around her as if a tornado had just passed by. As she released an exasperated grunt before pushing her figure off the ground, a few laughs and giggles traveled through the classroom from unhurried students that didn’t seem to have anything better to do than to mock her misfortune and uncoordinated self. Huffing at those bold enough to laugh at a royally pissed off witch, she made a hasty exit after fixing her hair, disheveled from the fall.  
  
…  
  
After several useless hours spent in the library, studying for the dreadful finals, she found herself surrounded by nothing but silence. She left the building, taking a turn in direction of her vintage Mercedes Benz, her Grams’ last car. Already beside her car, Bonnie unzipped her small purse to fish for the car keys when the weirdest sensation electrified every nerve ending with relative efficiency.  
  
The oddity of the experience prompted her to lift her chin and scan the surrounding area. In the horizon, the sun was setting. No sign of life. She was greeted with further silence.  
  
Even though her senses rang warning bells persistently with the great possibility of another preternatural existence nearby, she recklessly chose to disregard it. One nonchalant shrug of shoulders later, her fingers returned to their previous task by diving into her handbag, in search of those damned keys.  
  
As she did so, a piece of cloth was held against her mouth and nose. A very muscular arm snaked about her neck, the muscles rippling with the exertion of the aggressor’s actions. The foul stench of an initially unknown fluid, that had been previously poured onto the piece of fabric, became so intense within mere seconds that it didn’t take her long to put two and two together and recognize the chemical solution chosen to subdue her senses, her magic included– chloroform.  
  
Against Bonnie’s will, heavy eyelids began to shut as darkness closed in on her. The last thing her eyes see before shutting down completely was the vision of delectable tawny skin, certainly designed by the Gods for a woman to taste with her teeth and tongue, all night long.  
  
…  
  
The incessant aching of her neck pulled her from a deep, peaceful slumber, one that had been previously forced on her. Bonnie raised her hand to rub the sore region, consequence of the prolonged position of her neck, bent in an odd angle. The clinking of metallic chains drew a troubled gaze to the wrist bound to the wall behind her, ensuring her captivity.  
  
A deep feeling of dread coiled in the pit of her stomach the same moment realization robbed her of breath.  
  
How did she let herself get caught and kidnapped without much of a fight?  
  
Ferocious ire consumed every thought for there was nothing Bonnie despised more than to be captured like a mindless animal. Her head moved frenziedly from side to side in search of her captor but her vision refused to cooperate. It seemed the night had settled for several hours now and her weak, human eyes couldn’t capture enough light to see. A cool chill descended the length of her spine, the cold from the floor seeping into her bones. She trembled lightly.  
  
From the outside, ridiculously loud noises accompanied with the pleasant to ears jazz music penetrated through thick walls. She listened, hoping to collect enough intel about her whereabouts. The passing voices faded, no valuable information found in the bits and pieces of casual conversations she managed to understand. Her frustration mounted. Bonnie had yet to meet her incarcerator, but it seemed he was not currently in the premises.  
  
A strange, twisted curiosity fed her urge to come face to face with the faceless creature. From her limited angle of vision, when this mysterious man caught her by surprise, Bonnie was able to capture the sight of the most masculine arms she had ever seen. Even though the chance to admire his height was stripped from her, Bonnie could tell he was exceptionally tall. Most likely around 6’5-ish from when he pressed his entire body against hers in a most intimate way while effortlessly succeeding in gaining control over her.  
  
…  
  
His extended absence presented her with the perfect window of opportunity to free herself from the biting shackles. Without giving it much thought, Bonnie quickly blasted the metallic restraints as soon as she managed to gather enough juice to fuel her magic and her skin tingled from it. Yet a surprise had been waiting for her all along.  
  
Not only the shackles didn’t break loose, the nasty smell of burnt flesh indicated the discharge of magic had backfired on her. Pain spread through her like a lethal poison, slowly infecting her every cell.  
  
Pure iron was the only element on Earth with the ability to overpower my magic, temporarily dulling it into inexistent levels. The chains must have been made from it. Shit. The brute, certainly inhuman, held an apparent extensive knowledge on her species. This couldn’t be good. For her. Desperation won over rational thought for several heartbeats. She fought against the restraints in a feeble attempt to unlock them while logic screamed at her they wouldn’t budge. They didn’t. Cries of despair filled the air.  
  
_‘Please God, get me out of this mess.’_  
  
Her captor chose this moment to barge into the room he had her caged in, silently and promptly compelling her to cease her ongoing and frankly useless escape. His presence alone exuded command and demanded respect.  
  
         “We both know it’s useless. Even with your impressive powers, you’re powerless with those chains on.” His thick foreign accent instigated a fire within her that had been dormant for months.  
  
At that, Bonnie almost laughed when the picture of her, Bonnie Sheila Bennett, becoming something akin to a victim of Stockholm syndrome invaded her mind. A pair of vibrant green eyes studied the masculine body towering over her, drinking even the smallest of details of the piece of perfection standing just mere inches from her. Definitely a body made for sin, she decided. His blonde hair along with the pair of the most eerie midnight eyes she had ever seen made the deadliest of combinations, stirring a lustful thirst. How unusual for her to experience such carnal sensations in the predicament she was in. The conjugation of the man with the nobility dripping from his aura would render any woman awfully quiet.  
  
         “My apologies for the earlier crudeness from my part. I’m Kyrian.”  
  
With a scoff ready to flee her mouth, Bonnie rose to her full height slowly, sliding over the wall behind me before throwing a glower in his general direction.  
  
         “Are you kidding me?! You’re actually apologizing for kidnapping me?”  
  
He was quick to elevate both hands in the air like a twelve year old child who just got caught with his hands in the cookie jar. He, then, flaunted a boyish smirk laden with mystery.  
  
         “Look, I know my methods weren’t the most conventional ones but I’ve been watching you for days, Bonnie. After a couple of days I knew I would never be able to convince you to come with me to New Orleans… By the way, are you aware of the leech that has been trailing you wherever you go? That dude has some serious issues.”  
  
This time, a disturbed scoff escaped her. Then, she shrieked.  
  
         “I’m in New Orleans?! No. I can’t be here. You’ve got to be the stupidest male I’ve ever crossed paths with and trust me I got my fair share of idiots in my life. What are you? I need to go back! And… I am aware of him… I’ve grown quite used to it. His intentions come from a good place in that cold heart of his.”  
  
Bonnie surprised herself when she quickly defended the bane of her existence. Lifting the shackles binding her wrists until she had his attention, she asked him in a dry tone.  
  
         “You mind?”  
  
Another derisive snort slipped past her lips while Kyrian slithered his hand inside his pocket to retrieve the key to her freedom. Perhaps it was the knowledge of sharing the same room with an angry witch coerced him to grant her wish immediately.  
  
         “I can’t bring you back home just yet. There’s a reason why you’re here, Bonnie. Your family’s name is known around these lands. Every witch in the French Quarter whispers your name with respect and reverence on account of your lineage and natural dexterity to yield magic. And we need you… You’ll learn about my kind soon enough.”  
  
Once unbound, Bonnie eased the discomfort around her wrists by rubbing them with circular motions. Naïve curiosity adorned exotic features.  
  
         “We? Who’s we? Why would you need my help in particular? Don’t you have enough witches here?”  
  
A mask of unyielding gravity settled onto chiseled features a moment prior to dropping words in his heavy Greek accent.  
  
         “Come.”  
  
He gestured for her to follow his retreating figure as he headed to the door to welcome the barely breathable heat of a typical New Orleans’ night. The combination of colors with the myriad of different, pleasing sounds and musical notes conjured the most overwhelming and breathtaking picture Bonnie had ever set her eyes upon. Momentarily distracted by a group of professional jazz musicians, a grin forced its way upon her lips. Like a child during Christmas morning, Bonnie looked absolutely mesmerized by the talent and vivacity of the city. Kyrian’s taunting voice lured her focus back to him.  
  
         “We’ve heard that you have dealt with such creatures before and it seems that the dark forces from your world have decided to affiliate with those from our world. My boss, Acheron, will fill you in. Just be prepared…”  
  
A frown darkened her features. “Prepared for what?”  
  
He chuckled despite the initial warning tone in his words. “You’ll see when you meet him.”  
  
Ever eager to drink from the fountain of knowledge and highly interested in learning about Kyrian and his kin, Bonnie joined him, at last, strolling down the busy, crowded streets in direction to a destination that was yet unknown to her.


	2. Chapter 2

The boisterous city surrounded them, nearly drowning them in constant festive cheer but only silence accompanied Bonnie and her mysterious escort. Only their steps on the pavement signaled their temporary alliance despite its rocky, unorthodox start. But was there anything orthodox about Bonnie Bennett?  
  
The earlier mention of Damon brought chaos into her heart. In return, like a vicious slap, her mind forced her to revisit an ancient, long buried memory. In the thick of the forest surrounding Mystic Falls, there was a small, magical place. Forsaken by all. Except them. Together, they named it their meadow. Their secret, hiding place. A place to escape the madness that danced in their world, even for just a little while.  
  
The memory on itself was not a particularly pleasant one yet she still found herself to be quite fond of it. She called it their perfect, final farewell.  
  
In desperate need for some peace and quiet, a moment in time to let her thoughts wander and, quite frankly, torment her, she had practically raced toward their spot. Drops of sweat formed a line along her hairline, her breath labored from the exertion. Quickly making a mental note to work out more often, her legs gave out beneath her weight. The bruises on her knees were superficial compared to the ones found on her heart. Brutal silence greeted her and she welcomed it for a change.  
  
Lying on her side, her fingers played with stems of grass, and her thoughts ran wild. In the midst of her reverie, she failed to notice his arrival.  
  
    “What are you doing here?” Her tone gentle, charged with emotional turmoil.  
  
He said nothing. Instead, he took a seat beside her and stared at her like he had done a million times before. She brought herself into a sitting position, and her head tilted. The strange light she found in his gaze rose the hairs of her arms in alarm. She grew uncomfortable as the silence stretched. And she hated the sensation. With him, silence had always been peaceful, warm. But everything had changed. His fingers twitched as if he was at war with himself. The struggle in him unleashed chaos in her soul, and her heart’s wounds reopened. Stitches weakened under the strain of her love. She bled in silence but dared to do what he did not. Trembling fingers reached for his cheek but a moment of hesitation stilled her fingers. He took her by surprise when his own gripped hers in soothing tenderness and brought them to the side of his face.  
  
If she lived a thousand lifetimes, she would never forget the longing wreaking havoc across his chiseled features. The memory imprinted itself on her soul with no expiration date.  
  
Then, he let her go. His fingers dropped hers, the emptiness left slapping her. Hard. He rose to his height again, ready to bolt. She wasted not a single breath to follow after him.  
  
    “Damon! Wait.” She pleaded.  
  
    “What do you want from me, Bon?” His voice thick with emotion.  
  
    “I— I… Forget it.” She shook her head and turned his back to him, ready to leave.  
  
Pieces of her heart tumbled to the ground on her departure. Suddenly, a pair of arms caught her. Halting her rushed exit and opening the gates to humiliation.  
  
    “Bonnie Bennett, you do not walk away like this. You’re the brave one between you and I.”  
  
His forehead touched hers intimately. And again, she shook her head.  
  
    “We can’t do this, Damon.”  
  
    “I know. I… I just needed to see you today.”  
  
Her breath fondled his lips as hers parted and her head nodded in understanding.  
  
    “You… be happy. Okay?” The sincerity in her broken voice nearly brought him to his knees. “And, I know one of these days, you won’t remember me anymore but I always will. I’ll carry you in my heart with nothing but tenderness and respect.”  
  
He started to contradict her with a shake of his head.  
  
    “Your stubbornness still drives me mad, woman. I could never forget you, Bonnie Bennett. You’re an amazing person, wonderful friend and one hell of a woman.”  
  
Her fingers caressed his cheek. “Thank you. For lying to me in merciful fashion.”  
  
    “I’m not.”  
  
    “Then I guess this is just another thing we add to the pile of things we could never agree on.”  
  
One of his infamous smirks took over his lips for brief heartbeats until the expression grew serious once more. Then, he unknowingly glued some lost pieces of her back to their original place when he dipped her head and brought his lips to her forehead for an innocent kiss of goodbye.  
  
He was gone before she had time to reopen her eyes.  
  
  
  
    “Bonnie? Bonnie? You still with me?” The foreign accent in Kyrian’s voice catapulted her back to reality, far far away from the fields of memories.  
  
For an entire heartbeat, her feet refused to advance as she centered herself, holding onto any and everything she could that belonged to the present. The past was a mere passage, the place we used to be before experience and wisdom. And her journey had never been an easy one yet on the way, she did find moments of blissful peace. The recollection of those dreamy-like memories strengthened her heart, rebuilt her defenses and offered her renewed purpose. She never faltered in her path.  
  
Ink dark hair bounced bewitchingly as she shook her head, gathering her thoughts and words.  
  
    “I’m sorry. I got caught up in a moment back there. Something about this city…”  
  
With an odd light to those fathomless midnight eyes, his gaze penetrating, a myriad of emotions danced across his features before he too shook his head as if he had just walked through a similar hell. The echoes of grief remained etched to his face.  
  
    “Your love is admirable, Bonnie.”  
  
Stupid bewilderment stole the light in her features, darkening her expression. How did he…  
  
    “Excuse me?”  
  
He never replied. Pressing his hand to the lower of her back, he prompted her forward before whispering, “We’re here.”  
  
More disturbed than ever, Bonnie glanced between the stranger who called himself Kyrian (no last name) and the dully-lit entrance of a bar/restaurant with a sign that read ’ **Sanctuary** ’ and a moonlit hill and a motorcycle in the background. In smaller letters, she read ’ Home of the Howlers ’. Curious to learn more about this place as her senses reeled with the suffocating presence of different species of preternatural creatures, Bonnie followed Kyrian’s lead as he greeted the man standing guard at the main entrance. The blonde, exceptionally gorgeous man dazzled her with a crooked smile she was sure had charmed many women’s panties to the floor.  
  
    “Evenin’, Dark Hunter. Acheron’s already inside waiting. He asked me to ask you to meet him in the soundproof room.” Then his gaze landed on Bonnie. “And who might you be, beautiful? A goddess from a foreign pantheon stranded in New Orleans?”  
  
At first, Bonnie’s innocence had her believe it was just an elaborate mean to flirt with her but then, one quick glance into the bar later, reality kicked into gear. His question hadn’t been a metaphor. Kyrian, in all his 6'5 glory of absolute strength and charisma, proceeded with the introductions.  
  
    “Dev, this is Bonnie Bennett. And she’s a child of Hecate, a witch. And a powerful one at that. You best remember that.” Then, he turned to Bonnie with a killer grin. “Bonnie, this huge mountain of a bear,” he paused to chuckle at something she couldn’t comprehend as she remained in the dark in all things of this side of the supernatural world, “is Dev Peltier. The Peltiers own this place.”  
  
The confusion painted on Bonnie’s face gave motive to the two males to burst out laughing at her expense. Big mistake. Bonnie Bennett was an easy witch to anger. Soon enough, they were both frantically slapping themselves to extinguish the flames that rose from thin air on their clothes.  
  
    “I like her already. She’s going to fit in just perfectly in our crazy, demented family.” Dev lifted her hand to his lips to offer her a chivalrous kiss to her fingers. “It’s a pleasure, ma chère.”  
  
    “I’m still deciding but I’ll get back to you.” The tiniest grin playing at the edges of her lips betrayed the coldness in her words.  
  
One step into the bar had Bonnie hesitating for a second. For some ungodly reason, she could not shake the feeling that the next steps would belong to the beginning of a new chapter of her life. Ever fearless in nature, determination painted itself on her face like war paint before following after Kyrian to the upper floor where they were supposed to meet with this feared, highly respected leader. Once at the top of the stairs, Kyrian paused to admire Bonnie walk through the crowd. No. Not walk, he quickly decided. Glide.  
  
She glided with unparalleled grace that even the goddesses lacked.  
  
And for a single fraction of time, his missing soul screamed out in agony as it remained tucked away in the hands of the goddess who owned him. Two thousand years of blind solitude were taking its toll on him, his mind, his heart. And the soul that no longer inhabited his body. She commanded attention from every patron, even those who refused to be noticed themselves. A whisperer of souls, she bewitched them all. The tragedy of it all translated in her naïveté; she couldn’t even imagine the effect of her own presence. There was peaceful hope radiating off of her that just mesmerized those brave enough to come near her. She was sunlight, exotic beauty and warmth. Fierce loyalty, and raw kindness bled from her. In all his years of existence, he swore he had never come across a woman like her. She stood in a category reserved solely for her. Only a few could ever dream of reaching it.  
  
He nearly fell on his knees as a supplicant to a goddess, praying for absolution, when she finally approached him with disarming smile on her Cupid bow shaped lips. The flames of Tartarus chanted his name as he lost the inner battle of wills and his fingers reached for hers. The deep longing to feel the softness of her skin against his slayed his proud stubbornness.  
  
Gently drawing her into the quiet, more reclusive corner of the Sanctuary, he ventured into a hallway and opened a door on their right before robbing her of breath as those midnight skies bore into her. Her throat parched, she found it impossible to deliver any words. Her treacherous mind wasn’t operating properly anyway, she would only embarrass herself when she stumbled in her words. At last, dread coiled in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t sure what to expect on the other side of the door until Kyrian pushed it open to reveal…  
  
A horde of incredibly handsome men, all dressed in black and sporting a ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude.  
  
What in the Hades?  
  
Bonnie looked over her shoulder to see Kyrian there, a smirk dancing at the edges of his lips. He was enjoying this.  
  
_The bastard!_  
  
They all grew quiet as she entered the room. Bonnie never felt so out of her element until this moment. Dumbfounded, her eyes glanced between every individual, expecting to wake up at any moment now. When a minute stretched into a few, she decided this was probably real. Kyrian prompted her forward.  
  
Her heart raced, uncertain of how to tread in these unknown waters as every pair of eyes studied her as if expecting her to hold the knowledge of some mystery they needed solved. One of them stepped forward with something akin to controlled fury bleeding from him. The opaque sunglasses kept his gaze hidden from her. Waves of shock shook her all the way to her foundation as she took notice of his young age. He couldn’t be older than twenty. The poster child for the Goth movement, the man exuded sensuality from every pore, he commanded respect and dared anyone to cross him with the promise of eternal torment. Abnormally tall, with dark purple hair semi-tamed in a ponytail, he had the gait of skilled predator, ready to pounce if necessary. This was one scary creature.  
  
    “Bonnie, welcome to New Orleans. Acheron Parthenopaeus.”  
  
She nearly gasped when the thunderous voice of his, thick with an ancient accent, slapped her.  
  
    “That’s Talon of the Morrigantes, Julian of Macedonia and Wulf Trygvassen.” The three men inclined their collective heads at her in formal greeting.  
  
She fumbled with her rings, suspicious of her role in this meeting. Why would any of them need a female in the midst of an impenetrable wall of testosterone?  
  
An angry growl rumbled, unexpectedly. Followed by a curse so foul, she cringed. This time, a gasp escaped her, and her feet brought her a few steps backwards. A firm but impressively gentle grip forced her to a stop and the green of her eyes collided with her own reflection upon the surface of those damned sunglasses. Lifting her wrists, badly bruised from her earlier attempt to escape her temporary imprisonment, Acheron pointed at them as if offended.  
  
    “I thought I had told you she was to be brought here on her own terms, Commander.”  
  
In return, Kyrian brought his arms upwards in initial surrender until his temper flared and scorched all common sense.  
  
    “Come on, Ash! You knew better than that. All it took me was two seconds in her mind to know she would never come here willingly. That’s why you sent me, damn you! Don’t think I don’t regret doing… that. Stupid mistake, I fucking know it. You don’t have to slap my ass, boss.”  
  
With that angry tirade, he vacated the room with furious steps. She almost followed him.  
  
    “He’s right, you know? I’m the first to admit his methods were a bit archaic but I wouldn’t have come otherwise. This…” Her gaze fell on the bruises left by the merciless bite of shackles. “This is my fault. I don’t do well in cages. And something tells me you understand that better than you let on.”  
  
A contrite expression fell on Acheron’s features. What happened to this man? She couldn’t put her finger on it but something about him pulled the strings of her heart in sympathy for his pain and everything he hid from the world behind those dark sunglasses. A familiar warmth spread from her wrists to her arms and rest of the body while his thumbs rubbed the marred flesh. It didn’t take him more than two seconds, this walking enigma of a creature unleashed a mere sliver of raw power to return her skin back to its original shade, healing it completely.  
  
Unsure of what it meant, Bonnie decided to pull the plug to this ongoing mysterious meeting. She wanted answers and she was going to get them no matter what. If there was one thing she hated more than lies, it was being thrown into a situation she had no knowledge about. And she absolutely despised feeling so lost and disoriented.  
  
    “Alright. Time’s up. Who are you? And why was I brought here? You have one minute before I leave. I suggest you use your time well.”


	3. Chapter 3

Silence reigned. For a good fifteen seconds.   
  
The collective expression easily painted on their faces would have been hilarious had Bonnie not been dead serious with her ultimatum. That alone spoon-fed the demon in her that pulled her down a path of anger and blind vision.   
  
Until raucous laughter rang in her ears. She was fast on her way out of the room with determined steps that boomed beneath her feet. The congregation of asphyxiating testosterone was in for a good lesson, Bennett-style.   
  
But there was one whose laughter refused to become anything other than a myth. The one whose thunderous voice, enriched with the thickest accent she had ever heard, effectively stopped in her tracks as hesitation gripped her conscious and her infamous innate willingness to help those in need kicked her teeth in. Her fingers had just grazed the doorknob.   
  
    “We need your help, Bonnie.”  
  
There was no mockery, no laughter in his tone. Only seriousness, a sense of urgency and honest need for assistance. A humility she found incongruous with the creature that had said them. But Acheron Parthenopaeus was nothing but a dichotomy in the flesh.   
  
Amusement had fled the scene with its tail tucked between its figurative legs. Her gaze lingered on her hand hovering just inches above the cool metallic doorknob.   
  
_—Fine, she thought to herself._  
  
She turned around and, once again, she saw herself reflected on the dark lenses of those sunglasses.   
  
_—Arrogant prick!_  
  
To her complete shock, the corners of his lips twitched as if he had been privy to her private name-calling. Had she said it out loud? She wondered. No, it wasn't possible. The two remaining pairs of midnight eyes, oddly identical in shade, stared at her with a relevant degree of apprehension in them. Absolutely stunned with Bonnie's unexpected combustion.   
  
_—Okay. . ._  
  
She was clearly surrounded by powerful creatures. Too powerful, perhaps. Her senses tingled with the unfamiliarity of such power. Raw, untamed, volatile. Yet, she held fear at bay. For unknown reasons, each one bled protectiveness, and in their unreadable eyes, she found pain, betrayal and scars that ran too deep. No one with souls as mutilated as theirs could aim to cause pain by their own free will. She was safe, she decided.   
  
    “So...?” She prompted.   
  
    “Alright. We haven't been completely straightforward with you. The darkness of our world in desperation for a win against the good guys,” Acheron pushed his hand forward toward his two companions, “has formed an alliance with the darkness of your world.”  
  
    “How?” Bonnie's interest piqued, she drew near the mysterious leader of this bunch.   
  
    “The lord and master of the Daimons, our own version of vampires, has unleashed a ploy to turn New Orleans into a rich, delectable banquet of souls. Long story short, the witches, wolves and vampires of this city are being manipulated into hating each other. The three factions of the supernatural are coveted by our Daimons because of the great power embed in their souls.”   
  
Trying to wrap her mind around the avalanche of information he was dumping on her, with a promise of chaos and apocalyptic doom, Bonnie fell unceremoniously onto a chair. He took no mercy on her.   
  
    “Their feud, if not contained, will end up being the death of all of them. We suspect a member from the Mikaelson family to be working alongside Stryker, the leader of the Daimons. We can't find out who though. But we know you have come in contact with this family before, back in Mystic Falls. And the Bennett name is whispered in New Orleans with reverence, with utmost admiration. Your lineage is considered to be royalty amongst the witches around here. And you, Bonnie Bennett, are the most powerful and skilled of all. Rumors on you spread, emphasizing your prowess, your battle-ready fire impossible to be quelled. The prophecy speaking of a witch wielding great power, seduced by darkness but never welcoming it entirely, rises from the ancient books of destiny.”   
  
Nervous laughter spilled from her lips.   
  
    “And you think that's me? You're all nuts!” In denial, she struggled to breathe and her ears buzzed. Slapping her hands on the metallic table before her, she forced herself to stand but her legs weakened under her weight and she stumbled back onto her seat.   
  
With lines of worry creasing his forehead, Acheron lowered himself to her height with probing eyes. He hid the intensity of his gaze behind that wall of black from those sunglasses she was starting to despise.   
  
    “Breathe, Bonnie. Slowly.” Sensing the decrease of her panic, his lips twitched again before adding, “I know you know people feel quite intimidated by you. They even go as far as crossing to the other side of the street so they don't have to walk by you. Humans are quite perceptive in their paranoia. It's like they know we could be a threat to them. Potentially.”  
  
Including himself in the rejection from humans, he paused halfway whilst reaching for her fingers as if silently asking for her permission to be touched by him. A mist of confusion descended upon her mind. Why on Earth would a creature as powerful as him be so hesitant to touch another?   
  
Surely not. . .   
  
Promptly repressing the thoughts rooted in darkness and ugly depravity, Bonnie's fingers closed about his. His aura was nothing but an encrypted message with a multitude of inconsistencies that were at war with each other. A walking contradiction. She licked her lips, suddenly aware of his proximity. Toying with the idea of revealing the colour of the eyes he so adamantly hid, her fingers practically flew to the sides of his boyish face, marked with ages of wisdom.   
  
    “Careful what you wish for, Bonnie...” He warned.   
  
But paying no heed to his forewarning, she finally drew the proverbial curtain with a gasp of wonder. He had been stunning with the sunglasses on but without them, he was a creature of absolute perfection. Innately beautiful, it was as if he had been touched by Aphrodite herself. His eyes held untold wisdom in them. And unfathomable sorrow. But it was their swirling silver shade, reminding her of poisonous mercury, that held her captive. They were mesmerizing.   
  
    “Why do you hide them?” She whispered, lost in a dream of perfect beauty or beautiful perfection. “They're beautiful.”   
  
The raw, unfettered agony radiating off him in crushing waves nearly drowned her. Yet another mystery left to unveil. . . Why would something as innocuous as the eyes cause him so much pain?   
  
Unsurprisingly, he ignored her words.   
  
    “You should probably go find that stubborn, most likely bitching Greek asshole. He's outside, pouting in a corner because he got yelled at. You take your time to think about this, alright? I know this is a lot to take in... and there's a lot to consider. But the most important thing is, no one is going to hold it against you if you think the best thing is to walk away now.”  
  
The simple touch of her fingers from earlier had untethered the channel that made it possible for him to see into her fate. But for her touch, he would still be able to monitor her future and what was to befall her. But Acheron could never be so lucky. And those three little bitches hated him with a passion that was nothing but irrational. The Fates could sever Bonnie's thread of life without his knowledge and that scared him already. A cursed god, and the Atlantean god of Final Fate, he was forbidden to share the company of his protective mother and his powers were banished to those he stupidly cared for. Eleven thousands years later and he still hadn't learned the most important lesson of all. To never get attached, especially to humans. His interference could ultimately lead to catastrophic consequences. Not only his omnipotence was limited to himself, that restriction was also extended to those who managed to worm their way into his dark heart. Inwardly, he damned himself for allowing this to happen yet again.   
  
He watched her stand, slowly. Bonnie was evidently still recovering from her innate inability to recognize the most basic thing about herself. Panic won her over every chance it got. She was rendered impotent against it the moment another confronted her with unshakable truths about her and her witchcraft. Her natural defiance and refusal to stay down for any longer than absolutely necessary inspired him, making him long for that same spirit. She was vibrant, warm, emotional but surprisingly prudent. She held a warrior's spirit. He had been around too many to recognize it when he saw one.   
  
At the main entrance, Bonnie sought for Dev in hopes he might hold any information on Kyrian's whereabouts. One quick glance through Sanctuary had been enough to know he couldn't be found in the premises. Strangely enough, she felt him at a level she refused to analyze for the time being. It was as if he was calling out for her with something akin to a siren's call. Pointing down the road, Dev indicated her where Kyrian was headed when he left. According to him, Kyrian had been in quite the rush to leave. Flustered, even.   
  
With a mild groan of irritation, she followed Dev's directions whilst pushing her mind to neglect Acheron's words about her. She had never been the proficient witch they all claimed her to be. Alright would be the appropriate term to describe her knowledge and skills when she dabbled in witchcraft. Moreover, she couldn't even understand her desire to seek Kyrian. Or her yearning to soothe the blisters caused by Acheron's earlier spewed accusations. In fact, she should be furious at him for his antics.   
  
  _—What is wrong with me?_  
  
In her inner battle of unwanted thoughts, a group of exceptionally beautiful, blonde men circled her, until she had no other way out other than through them. Confused, and frankly momentarily dazed by their ethereal beauty, Bonnie stumbled on her feet. One of them smirked, giving her a glimpse of the tip of his fangs while another prevented her tumble to the ground by griping her arm.   
  
_Vampire!_ Her mind screamed at her. Summoning her magic, she was ready to strike back when the smirking blonde surprised her by conducting an attack to her mind. His powers were nothing like she had experienced before. The creature overpowered her with an eerie effortlessness that Bonnie was not accustomed to. She saw her own soul being absorbed into the center of the chest of the blonde, relishing in her magic and strength. To elongate their lives shortened by Apollo's curse, result of a series of disastrous events in a far past that lived no more (even in history books), these creatures with characteristics of wild animals (also a consequence of the curse) found a loophole to their sentence of a life of mere 27 years. Souls. As long the souls they drained from others lived within their bodies, they extended the limit to their lives. And the stronger and more powerful the soul, the more and longer it would sustain them.   
  
    “You're a... Daimon.” Bonnie mumbled already half unconscious, finally understanding the difference between these sucking creatures and the ones she was familiar with.   
  
_—So this is how I die..._  
  
It dawned on her that this was what Kyrian and the others fought against. Protecting humanity in the dark, and spurned by those they vowed to protect. Nobility truly came from those you least expected.   
  
Mocking laughter rang in her ears again. Only this time, it was as commemoration for her imminent demise. That was until a bellow of untamed fury and the promise of merciless vengeance cut through the air with similar artistry of that of a sword.   
  
    “Bonnie!”   
  
Like a wild predator bent on cutting the finish line earlier to the pack of hungry dogs around Bonnie, Kyrian extended his retractable sword with unrivaled grace before assuming the warrior side of him, deadly and without mercy. Dancing through the walking corpses that collapsed in an explosion of dust, he was mesmerizing as he bled courage and thirsted for victory with every blow he delivered. Whispers of the ancient world brought Bonnie into this one as she regained conscious and admired the trained soldier effortlessly putting the rabid dogs down.   
  
_**« “On the battlefield, with a sword in your hand, you are invincible.” »**_  
  
Uncertain of where she conjured those words from, Bonnie's magic sizzled as an unfamiliar recognition wrapped itself around her heart. Somehow she knew the words were familiar to Kyrian.   
  
    “At least they clean after themselves. It would be a bitch if I had to hide all these bodies. Nifty, huh?” He said, laughing whilst strapping his weapon on the inside his leather jacket.   
  
Closing the distance between them, he winked at her with a boyish grin plastered to his face as bent down to carry her on his arms, bridal style. Bonnie closed her arms around his neck, grateful that her soul remained intact and with wonder reflected in her eyes, her lips curled in amusement. Then, to her complete surprise, he dipped his head and claimed her lips in the most ardent kiss she had ever been given to.   
  
    “I've wanted to do that all night.”


	4. Chapter 4

    “I've wanted to do that all night.”  
  
Time stood still. Only the sound of lips reconnecting, hungrily consuming each other echoed in the dead of night. The air surrounding them sizzled with charged chemistry, and bound power that longed to be released. His hands possessed her body with fervent need that she was not accustomed to, her fingers plunged themselves with an air of desperation that defied logic. In the stillness of darkness where Apollo, the god of sun, was banished from, their embrace could easily be considered as public indecency. Something out of a Hollywood film.   
  
Bonnie tasted delicious sin, addictive fervor and a dash of regal arrogance in his lips. But for a moment in time, the young witch held onto the quiet suffering she hid from the world. Even her friends knew nothing of it. Similarly, Kyrian savoured untamed passion, a raging sea of power rolling its waves against soothing touch and the telltale bitterness of trepidation. In her, he found a mirror of his own missing soul.   
  
Cuts and bruises covered their hearts, the work of art of cruel hands out to maim unmarred flesh.   
  
Injecting space that brought the separation of their lips, Kyrian's thumbs brushed the chocolate au lait hued skin on a path from the corner of her eye to her temple. The midnight skies of his eyes probed hers with a tenderness that brought weakness to her knees.   
  
    “Forgive me if I overstepped my boundaries.” He paused to watch her again. In a methodical study of the subtle changes to her expression. “I just—”  
  
In a move rather uncharacteristic for her due to the impulsive nature of it, Bonnie hushed him with a finger against the softness of his lips. The only part of his anatomy that was soft to the touch. The rest of him was made of sinewy steel.   
  
    “Shut up.” The interjection curving her lips in a rare smile that reached her eyes, combusting the dullness of green into flames of vibrancy that breathed life again. “You talk too much, Kyrian No Last Name.”   
  
A practitioner of the oldest language in the book himself, Kyrian tumbled right into her web of charms with a killer grin plastered to his mouth.   
  
    “I thought I had redeemed myself with the activity we just indulged in.” Noble features contrasted with the irreverence bleeding from his shit-eating grin. “Come on. We should head back before you get yourself in trouble again.”  
  
His fingers practically within reach of hers, Bonnie sucked in a sharp breath before denying him the touch of her with a brusque tug of hand.   
  
    “Excuse me?! I got myself in trouble? Funny. Unless I was deep into a dream-state, I just remember going after your pompous ass because Mr. Badass decided to throw a children's tantrum. Good night, asshole.”   
  
Her temper ablaze, her steps echoed down the street as she strutted without delay. Drenched in utmost disbelief, he stood gaping after her.   
  
No woman had dared to talk back to the same extent as Bonnie just had.   
  
Thoroughly amused by the fire in her veins, Kyrian's gaze trained on her retreating backside. Under the unseen attack of a desire he hadn't tasted in over two thousand years, he stood rooted to the pavement whilst admiring the sensual gait of hers. Her curves, highlighted by tight jeans and revealing top, extinguished the existence of humidity in his throat until a temperature, of the likes of which had been felt in the wasted lands of Sahara's desert, tormented him.   
  
Her name tingled his tongue, taunting him.   
  
    “Bonnie! Wait. I—” Rudely interrupted by his ringing phone, he silently cursed his luck before lifting the index finger in her direction. “Hold that thought.”  
  
    “Give her all she wants to know. Keep an eye on her while she chooses to stay. And for the love of God, don't piss her off.” Acheron's rumbling voice rang in his ears with its commanding tone the second Kyrian took the call. In all the years he'd known the man, he still found his boss' antics bizarre, even for their kin. Never had he gotten used to Ash's omnipresence and power that made a mockery of his.   
  
    “Are you certain of this? Is she even capable of dealing with the truth?” The concern for her didn't surprise him but the speed in which it burst free to raise a red flag carved lines of contemplation upon the surface of his forehead. A rare occurrence for him who courted danger on a nightly basis.   
  
    “Ease your mind, Commander. She'll be fine. You've seen it yourself, she's a fighter and capable of handling a lot more than we may assume. Besides, she's not entirely uninitiated in the supernatural matters. And she needs all the knowledge we can offer if she's going to stand with us.”  
  
    “Alright. Your wish is ever my command, o Great Lord of the barbarian horde that roams the night.”  
  
    “Tame your sarcasm, Greek. It won't be of much help to you near the spitfire you pursue.” With taunting laughter, he hung up.   
  
A set of green eyes burned him alive, demanding him to speak but words were lost to him as Acheron's parting words resounded loud and clear in the valleys of his mind. Was he referring to his current predicament as he chased after her or the unsettling emotions she stirred deep within him whenever she stood a little too close to him?   
  
    “So?” Bonnie's impatience tangible, he advanced toward her after shoving his phone back into the pocket of his dark jeans.   
  
Extending an arm, his fingers coiled about hers. This time, she welcomed the touch without protest. The seething beast had been tamed for now. “Come on.”   
  
    “Where are we going?” The tilt of her head wrung another grin from his lips. Her suspicion and unwillingness to trust another was rather endearing to his eyes.   
      
    “My place. It won't be long til the sun is up now. Have I mentioned that Ash just gave you the green light? Congratulations, Bonita. You're about to venture into a darker world.”   
  
His suggestion ignited an odd sense of excitement that she thought she had long lost. Embarrassed by the ridiculous speed of her heart, a wave of heat warmed the apples of her cheeks.   
  
 _—What is this sorcery?_  
  
The lack of trepidation in her bones scared her the most. Logic had been a great ally to her in the past, especially where all things supernatural stood. Yet, with him, she kissed it goodbye. Instead, her mind opened its gates to welcome the truth of a world that hid in the thicker shadows of mystified rumours and legends.   
  
    “You're scaring me, Kyrian. . .”  
  
That smirk of his returned with renewed vengeance. It merely existed to provoke her, she swore.   
  
    “No, you're not.”  
  
They had been walking for a few minutes when St. Louis Cathedral came into view. Bonnie took a moment to admire the church's architecture that rose from the ground in all its splendor in the form of an echo that traveled all way back into the great Renaissance era. Like a bucket of cold water being poured over her head, she trained her gaze on him with a hint of censure swirling in it.   
  
    “What? How do you do that?” She laughed when her mind offered her an explanation that defied even her magic. “Don't tell me you can read minds...”  
  
The seriousness reflected upon those midnight depths silenced her.   
  
    “Seriously?”   
  
    “Seriously.” He nodded.   
  
    “That's not creepy or anything...” Bonnie mumbled under her breath, successfully stroking his massive ego.   
  
When he halted beside a ridiculously expensive Lamborghini Diablo, her eyes bulged. And her steps grew uncertain. “It won't bite, you know?”   
  
    “Do you actually own this?”  
  
    “No, I'm stealing it with the keys in my hand.” The tone of mockery awakening the demon that breathed fire within, he gestured her to get in.   
  
Nodding in semi-automatic mode, Bonnie slid into the passenger's seat in disbelief. “You must be loaded! Holy...”  
  
    “You'd be amazed in how much you can save for two thousand years.” The causality of his words impressed her but the number prompted a more dramatic reaction. She sucked in a breath.   
  
    “You're joking...” She stated, half expecting him to laugh and admit his intention to fool her. He didn't.   
  
    “Two thousand one hundred and ninety-seven years old, to be precise. But who's counting?”  
  
Involuntarily, she chewed on her lip while letting her gaze to drink in the beauty of his body. “For an old man, you don't look bad. I wouldn't have put you a day over two hundred myself.” His laughter warmed her. “You know what they say about men who drive cars like this fine automobile. That they're merely compensating for. . .” Against her better judgement, her lust-filled gaze fell on the bulge in his jeans. She couldn't help teasing him. The temptation was too great.   
  
Without a word, his fingers locked around her wrist before pressing her hand against his swollen groin.   
  
 _The bastard. . ._  
  
With a dip of his head, his lips brushed the skin of her ear when he whispered. “Let me know if you need further convincing.”  
  
Nope. No compensating there.   
  
Bonnie felt her breath vacating her lungs as raw desire bit her viciously, her hand still intimately pressed against him. Thankfully, she caught herself right before the escape of a moan.   
  
But smugness had already taken over his features. He knew.   
  
She lifted her chin defiantly and unashamedly, and a grin mauled by ungodly mischief tugged at her lips. Then, she shifted the direction of her nails, burying them into the fabric of his jeans in hopes to unshackle a degree of chaos and misery as the sharpness of her nails bit into his groin.   
  
And the hiss that followed did wonders to her mood.   
  
    “Next time you invade my thoughts, it will be much worse, buster.”   
  
Kindly offering him a reprieve of her attack, she let her gaze wander beyond the window of his car.   
  
    “And here I thought you might want to keep my package safe from harm.” He said whilst pressing the heel of his hand against his erection.   
  
She murmured, playful exasperation still drenching her words. “You thought wrong.”   
  
    “Mmm.”  
  
A heartbeat later, the beast of a car purred back into life. While he drove them to his home, she took the moment of silence to reflect on the little she already knew. She licked her lips, a mountain of unanswered question plaguing her mind.   
  
Despite her mercurial behaviour and bite of her tongue, he couldn't resist her. Like an eternal flame, she burned bright even during the coldest nights. It took him a few minutes to reach the Garden District, even less to open the iron gates that welcomed him into his antebellum mansion. Right then, Bonnie felt the sting of a figurative slap from her consciousness. What was she doing? Persuaded by a complete stranger to go to his house. This reeked of danger and recklessness but fear still refused to make an appearance. Again, she found it disturbing.   
  
As if under a spell, her gaze found his. The atmosphere thickened with electric chemistry in the same beat of the heart. And her voice faltered when she finally asked the question scalding her tongue since the moment they've met.   
  
    “What are you?”

 


	5. Chapter 5

    “What are you?”  
  
Her question stilled them. Her in fear of his answer and him for the nightmares it brought to the surface, much like the rising of a corpse he had long convinced himself was dead and buried. The moment stretched for several heartbeats with the silence only intensifying to deafening levels as each one emerged from his Lambo. Truthfully, her curiosity was expected. And so was her right to know about him and his brethren and from which hole in Tartarus they were spat from. Acheron had given him full permission to appease her spirit of enquiry with extensive descriptions of his world. The Dark Hunters world.   
  
His head hung low with the weight of defeat and shame, and witty retorts replaced by unending silence. Yet contrary to her beliefs, the lack of words resulted not only from memories that delivered everlasting lashes to keep his heart raw and bleeding. It derived from a shocking awakening —the crippling longing to belong.   
  
As his lips parted to commence the onslaught of brutal facts and all the gruesome details of his and his kin's rebirth into an eternity of a phantom existence, the thick Cajun accent brought insolent interruption to their moment. Perhaps their defining moment even.   
  
    “I was about to unleash T-Rex on your ass, boss. Have you. . .”  
  
A pair of the most riveting blue eyes Bonnie had ever seen stared at her with bewilderment reflected in the oceans of his eyes, with storms raging. At a loss of words, the young man who had just barged in on them left his mouth opened.   
  
    “Well, I'll be damned. Kyrian's got himself a woman.”   
  
Nick Gautier flashed them a dimpled smile whilst glancing from Kyrian to Bonnie as if he was stuck in some alternative reality. Kyrian's obvious discomfort irradiated, crashing against Bonnie with such vigor her embarrassment multiplied exponentially.   
  
    “Zip it, Nick. Shouldn't you be at home already?” Mildly irritated, Kyrian asked his Squire (a Dark-Hunter's servant of sorts) with pauses conveniently added between each word for dramatic effect.   
  
    “You're not going to introduce me to your lady friend?” He, too, paused to grin at her in a most charming fashion. Bonnie had a feeling he wasn't completely aware of the power behind that killer grin of his. “Fine. I wanted to do some extra research on our newest friends. And by friends, I mean possible enemies. This so called... Original family.”  
  
With his patience slipping, Kyrian rubbed his temples as if nursing a headache. Only in this case, the headache had a name. Nick. Amused by their interaction, she could see why Kyrian had brought Nick under his wing. Two peas in a pod. Their tempers were mirrors of one another, and Bonnie dared even to push her assumptions a bit further and say that Nick reminded Kyrian of his human self. Smart-mouthed, reckless and definitely hot-headed.   
  
    “Bonnie, this is Nick. Nick, Bonnie. Leave everything in my office and I'll go through it later. Get your butt home now. Cherise will be worried if she wakes up before you're home.”   
  
With bleeding mockery, Nick saluted Kyrian as a soldier would his Commander. Then, with tamed insolence, he bowed to Bonnie in an air of comical relief that she appreciated immensely despite the sarcasm being its motivation.   
  
    “It was a pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle.” But before he took his leave, he couldn't resist adding, “Heed my warning, do not panic when you see his garage.”  
  
Then, to her complete surprise, he took her hand in his and kissed the backs of her fingers before striking her with another boyish grin that traveled hand in hand with a playful wink.   
  
    “Nice to meet you too, Nick.” She promptly added during his hasty retreat. “Well, Nick's... interesting.”   
  
In silent agreement, Kyrian chuckled. Instinct then kicked in as his fingers reached for hers. The moment his grazed hers, a discharge of electricity separated them as the uncomfortable sensation slithered through their cells until its eventual evaporation.   
  
    “Ow!” Blowing air to the tips of her fingers, she threw a teasing smile at him. “Better stay away from me, buster, or you'll be toast.”   
  
He said nothing. This time, caution slowed the possession of her hand. When no sparks flew (literally), Bonnie swore she heard him exhaling as if he had been actually scared of being shocked again. The smile tugging at her lips refused to give her any reprieve while they ventured through the immense mansion and all its rooms. All except one. He conveniently left his private chamber out of the tour.   
  
The brief visit to his enormous garage made her gasp as her eyes wandered from the Mercedes to the Porsche. Then to the vintage Jaguar and the Buick that looked rather odd in the midst of the others. Nick's earlier words finally made sense as the cryptic message decoded itself. The Lamborghini had been enough evidence to safely assume he was loaded but this...   
  
He lived like royalty.   
  
Other than the occasional comment on the various pieces of art, gigantic beds and breathtaking architecture of the house, no further discussions took place. And Bonnie grew anxious with an answer she had yet to get. Sensing the steady flow of frustration's accumulation, Kyrian finished the house tour in his favoured room. Guiding her through the opened French doors, he halted on his march to let her gaze wonder and admire the beauty of it. The glass-enclosed atrium had been built in resemblance of those found in the ancient villas of Greece, Kyrian's tale of desperation to bring a sense of home to a modern world that paid no mind to its history. A world that focused on the future yet to come. Marveled by the starry skies above her head, she nearly missed the sculpture that clearly had been the main attraction of this particular room.   
  
Imprisoned by the artist's vision, the three women gave Bonnie the impression they would emerge from their anchored stances to engage in easy conversation with her. It was both eerie and magnificent.   
  
    “Who are they?” She mumbled, with a touch of reverence drenching her question.   
  
    “My sisters.” He said simply without further elaboration. But just when she was convinced he wouldn't pursue the matter, his fingers graze the statue with a degree of loving affection that nearly drove Bonnie to look the other way and give them some semblance of privacy. “Althea was the youngest. She used to stutter when she was nervous. Diana was two years older than I. Her temperament was renowned. My father would say we were so much alike, and that was why we were always at odds with each other. Then, there's Phaedra. She had an angel's voice.”  
  
    “So, what happened to them?”  
  
    “They had long, happy lives. Diana named her firstborn after me.”   
  
Bonnie's contagious smile sprang as consequence of the last bit of Kyrian's revelations. It said a lot about their relationship considering their constant fighting.   
  
    “I'm guessing you never told them about...”  
Struggling to complete her sentence, he quickly finished it for her.   
  
    “My rebirth as a Dark-Hunter? No. To them, I was dead.”  
  
    “So how do you know about their lives after...”   
  
    “I could hear them while they went about their lives. Much like to what you feel when your best friend is in trouble.”  
  
Again, the on-point readings of Bonnie threw her off balance momentarily.   
  
    “You are one scary man.” Her mind wondered on whether there was anything she could hide from him. He certainly kept proving her that nothing could.   
  
By his sisters' feet, he laid a thick blanket to lie on whilst gazing into the flickering stars above them. Silently, Bonnie joined him. The frigid ice from the wall he rose between them after her mindless accusation acted as a repulsive agent that forced enough distance between their figures until neither could feel the warmth from the other's body.   
  
    “It's quite late for you, Miss Bennett.” The sudden shift in his tone did not go unnoticed.   
  
But she wouldn't have any of it anymore. Her temper flared to a minor degree. “No. I asked you a question and I intend of getting my answer before I give myself to sleep. Now, stop stalling and spill.”  
  
    “As you wish.”   
  
With those words, his loneliness bled from every pore as the ancient curse of his fate took a toll on the weary mind and battered heart. Her heart lurched in quiet suffering for him. In Bonnie's rather naive mind, this was the moment their bond established and built a bridge between their hearts. Her soul, prematurely mauled by careless touch and biting tongue, cried out as it sought his through mountains of sorrow and poisoning darkness shielding the vulnerabilities of a mind still raw after its abuse. An abuse he carried until today without any sliver of hopeful freedom from barbed thoughts and flogging whips that restrained a wild passion long asphyxiated. Inwardly, she wept over a loss she couldn't replace or return. Souls are precious. Not only for those born into them but those who barter for the possession of them.   
  
    “As far as the story goes, it was axons ago when Zeus glorified the greatness of humanity while he and Apollo were walking through Thebes. Apollo, being Apollo, dressed in his robes of vanity and sick desire to rise above Zeus himself scoffed with disdain and guaranteed he could do much better. Arrogance led him to declare his ability to create a superior race. So Zeus told him to prove it. After finding a nymph willing to bear his children, Apollo impregnated her, creating the Apollites.”   
  
    “Oh... So the Apollites are Apollo's children. Got it. How do they turn Daimon?”  
  
Boring midnight eyes into her, the edges of his lips twisted with dark amusement.   
  
    “Would you wait? I'm the one telling the story here. A little patience, akribos.”  
  
Grumbling, she reduced her complaint to her inner thoughts.   
  
    “Threatened by the Apollites superior traits in beauty, intellect and strength, Zeus banished them to Atlantis in hopes they would remain in peace amongst the Atlanteans. But their thirst to rule the earth as well as Olympus did not sit well with dear old Zeus. Apollo, on the other hand, was delighted by it since he would become their supreme god, ruler of all. The Greeks, primary victims of the Apollites ambitions, devised a scheme to seduce Apollo by offering him the most beautiful woman ever born, Ryssa to be his mistress.”  
  
    “Wait. Wasn't Helen of Troy the most beautiful?”   
  
Bonnie wasn't prepared for the wickedness oozing from the grin curving his lips.   
  
    “This was long before the time of Helen but it was said Ryssa's beauty was never surpassed. Apollo couldn't resist her and fell in love with her. From their relationship, a son was born. When whispers of this reached the shores of Atlantis and the queen's ears, she demanded Ryssa and her son killed. Brutally. Treacherous, she even ordered them to make it look like a vicious animal attack. All to prevent Apollo's retaliation.”   
  
Endearingly distracted by his storytelling, and the lilting of his accent that fell so pleasurably on her ears, her fingers moved in fluid grace to the tunes captive in her mind, the stars being the muse to the unheard melody.   
  
    “Let me guess. He found out.”  
  
    “He did. And as the god of plagues, you can imagine it wasn't pretty. It is said he destroyed Atlantis and would have killed his children had Artemis not put a stop to him.”  
  
Her interest piqued, Bonnie tossed the ice into the flames of her curiosity, her body rolling over until she was on her stomach with her chin digging into her palm as her elbows supported the weight of her head.   
  
    “Why would she stop him?”  
  
With a patience she didn't know he possessed, he too abandoned the admiration of the skies to gaze into the emeralds of her eyes. Their breaths mingling as he spoke.   
  
    “You see, since the Apollites were part of him, to kill them would ultimately result in Apollo's demise as well. And that would bring about the end of the world. Tragic, I know. But Apollo wouldn't rest until he delivered his punishment for their treachery. He banished every Apollite from his domain, cursing them to a life in darkness. Without any hopes of having the sun kiss their flesh ever again. Just so he would never have to see them. Because the queen had Ryssa's killers make it look like an attack from an animal, Apollo gave them the physical traits of animals as well. The whole set. Fangs, heightened senses.”  
  
    “So, it's safe to assume they drink blood too?”  
  
He gave a subtle nod.   
  
    “They do. Apollites were cursed to feed from each other every few days if they wanted to survive.”  
  
Subconsciously, her fingers rubbed her neck where Damon had tore into her flesh. The ghost of that particular pain still haunted. She couldn't even grasp the misery the Apollites faced for having to feed from each other.   
  
    “What of Daimons? What differentiates them from Apollites?”  
  
    “An Apollite turns Daimon when they feast on human souls.”  
  
The solemn finality of such fate conjured a shiver that slithered down her spine. “But why would they need human souls?”  
  
    “Ryssa was twenty-seven when she was murdered, and Apollo thought befitting to condemn his Apollites to live for the same number of years. Until their twenty seventh birthday, a day spent in absolute agony as their bodies decay in the period of twenty-four hours.”  
  
The vivid imagery he painted for her made her cringe visibly but he took no mercy.   
  
    “To avoid that coloured destiny, most Apollites kill themselves the day before their birthday.”  
  
    “Or they go Daimon.”  
  
    “Or they go Daimon. They consume blood but they cheat death by taking human souls into their bodies. As long as they keep the soul inside them, bargains of stolen time extended their lives. By how long, that relies upon the soul's integrity. The shredding of the consumed soul initiates as soon as a Daimon steals it from its proprietary. That rapid withering forces them to take another soul every few weeks.”  
  
The next question scalding her tongue took every ounce of courage to voice as she dreaded its answer.   
  
    “And what happens to the souls that die inside a Daimon?”  
  
    “Those are lost forever. And that's why we exist.”  
  
    “Dark-Hunters?”   
  
    “Mmm, yes.” Perhaps it was her proximity, or perhaps it was the beauty embed in her soul. Whatever the reason, Kyrian found himself tucking a stray strand of ink dark hair behind her ear. His voice descending into whispering levels, “Our job is to find the Daimons and set the souls free before their total expiration.”  
  
    “And...,” she paused, her gaze trained on him while his fingers found entertainment between the smoothness of her hair. “How are you chosen?”  
  
Since the beginning of his tale, this was the first time she witnessed his past's assault on the mind, on the heart of him. Unimaginable agony danced in the midnight skies of his eyes, making a mockery of her own pain that seemed childish and ridiculous in comparison to his and the depth of which his wounds ran.   
  
    “We aren't chosen. It's more like cursed. When we suffer terrible injustice...” Bonnie could almost see the past unfold itself in merciless cruelty before his eyes. And for a moment, he laid still, drowning in treacherous waters with his demons pulling him under. Incapable of camouflaging the tremor to his voice, he swiftly deflected her scrutiny by forcing his upon the stars. Only then did he continue. “Our souls cry out in a shrill scream that travels all the way to Olympus, resonating through its halls. When Artemis recognizes the cry for vengeance, she offers us a sweet bargain. In exchange for a single Act of Vengeance against those who wronged us, we swear allegiance to the goddess and fight in her army.”  
  
The disclosure of how he came into being an immortal creature unshackled a set of emotions in her she didn't even know were chained to begin with. Ribbons of intense admiration unfolded before the disarming gaze he cast her way. A hand flew between them to find landing point atop his cheek, her thumb caressing the skin in the throes of untamed anguish.   
  
    “Can Dark-Hunters be freed of their eternal service to Artemis and get their souls back?”  
  
She couldn't even pinpoint the origin of her question or why she wanted to know its answer.   
  
    “In theory. It's close to impossible to get that chance. And every test is different to each Dark-Hunter.”  
  
    “Oh.” She couldn't help but feeling disappointed. “Do you drink blood too?”  
  
    “No. It is forbidden and it would actually interfere with our ability to track down the Daimons.”  
  
    “But why—”  
  
    “We were given the same animal characteristics to aid in our hunt for the enemy. Personally, I think Artemis gets her kicks from creating her army as savage as her brother's children.” He interrupted her with the answer she sought. “And before you ask, we are forbidden into Apollo's domain mostly because we are an anathema to Apollo as we serve his sister, Artemis —goddess of the moon.”  
  
    “That's not fair.”  
  
    “The gods seldom are.”  
  
    “And, what happened to you?” She whispered without careful thought, as if lost in a trance as her mind digested the mountainous information he had just laid on her.   
  
Stiffening, the road to that particular village of pain and betrayal was quickly shut. A storm brewed in the horizon. “Long story. Rather not talk about it.”   
  
Stung from her proverbial slap, one delivered unwillingly, Bonnie's refusal to give him any escape routes melted in quick reflexes as her arms and legs imprisoned him in the makeshift cage of her. It had been so natural, she had paid no mind to it until she was staring into an abyss of darkness, swirling with a concoction of emotions so impassioned, it nearly drove her to glance away. But that would have implied the discovery of vulnerability with strokes of offensive shades in a canvas made of misconceptions.   
  
Her hair fell like a velvety canopy between their faces, still in pursuit for a semblance of insight into his past and the knives tearing his heart apart on the daily like Prometheus chained to his rock, stuck in eternal punishment as the eagle eats his liver.   
  
    “Will you, at least, tell me why you sold your soul?”  
  
Crumbling walls unveiled the tears to his soul, that were seared into his heart after its withdrawal. This was no longer the acting Dark-Hunter who stood frozen beneath her weight but rather the human who had endured unimaginable betrayal from whoever he had deposited his faith in. The clock ticked in its merciless countdown, and just when Bonnie thought she would never get her answer, she heard him.   
  
    “My wife.”   
  
The raw vulnerability drenching those words infected her, all the way to her bones. At this moment, no words could provide the solace she willed to offer. So instead, she embraced him. The strength of this man amazed her. When the world gave him no reason to protect it, he still chose that fate. It spat on him, mocked him, and worse, it looked through him when he became a shadow. Disarming her completely, his arms slid over her body in a protective hold that wrung her heart.   
  
In silent understanding, neither dared to move. But exhaustion would soon carry Bonnie into Morpheus arms against all protests. Kyrian, on the other hand, was as amused as he was intrigued by this Hecate's child and her baffling ability to trust when she too suffered great loss despite her young years. Going into great lengths to avoid waking her, he rose to his height in fluid grace, with her in his arms. With dismal state of mind, he took her into one of the spare bedrooms and draped a thick blanket over her slumbering figure. But in a moment of madness, Kyrian bent toward her to have his lips grazing hers in a ghostly caress.   
  
    “What hex did you put on me, Bonnie Bennett?”  
  
Pause.   
  
    “You will be the death of me.” His fingers traced the side of her face that emanated a peace he hadn't known in thousands of years as his murmur stirred the scribes of fate in quiet provocation.


	6. Chapter 6

In these lands, time was of the essence.  
  
The annual festival of New Orleans, Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday), was nearly knocking on their collective doors, and any postponement to their operation could potentially lead to a disastrous fate; the one outcome Acheron and his horde of unruly Dark-Hunters fought against with every breath taken. As the promise of war brewed in plain sight, every wolf, witch and vampire grew restless. Volatile. Inevitably, the inescapable virus of paranoia spread in effective contamination of the mind, robbing every preternatural of simple common sense. The so-called 'free will' slowly became a myth, the Fates' ultimate karmic punchline. Without reason and lagging functionality of intuition, fear rose to rule and in complete submission to it, New Orleans' inhabitants remained on edge, constantly looking over their shoulders in expectation of Death's final kiss.   
  
In the throes of famine, Bonnie and the rest sank their teeth into the flesh of troubling doom that hovered over their heads with twisted glee. Its approach rolling onto them in similar tempo to that of Mardi Gras.   
  
At dusk, when the skies blended a plethora of shades in different extravagant intensities, Acheron met with the two of them at Kyrian's. He passed an amused grin at Kyrian when Bonnie joined them in his living room, her appearance still unkempt as she had just woken up.   
  
    “Hello, Bonnie. Nice to see King Hothead over there hasn't scared you away yet. I trust you're up to full speed?”  
  
She nodded, halting by Kyrian's side. Natural morning grumpiness transcribed her state of mind while her fingers, plunged into messy curls, began their mission to tame undisciplined hair. “Yes.” Her voice still raspy from the lack of usage after a pleasant night's sleep. Or, more appropriately, day. She scarcely stayed awake through the entirety of the night.   
  
    “Alright, kids. We have much to discuss, we must devise a strategy to unite all the factions in New Orleans before Mardi Gras. We don't have the luxury of wasting time. The Oracles have been going on and on about an ancient prophecy that will take place during this year's Mardi Gras.”  
  
    “Let me guess. It went something like this, 'When the skies turn purple, and the earth bleeds in black, all that is will crack. To kill the great evil you seek, you'll have to find something unique.' Or some shit like that. I really hate Oracles. If I wanted to play mind games, I'd buy a Rubik's cube.”  
  
Despite the seriousness of their predicament, Bonnie laughed. He spoke in his own dialect of sarcasm with compelling charm. And she could never resist a man that made her laughter spring free so effortlessly. When both men shifted the direction of their collective gazes, training them on her, she nearly fell unconscious underneath their scrutiny in embarrassing desperation. Zipping her lips, she took reign of their previous conversation, steering into the avenue of seriousness.   
  
    “I'll talk to Klaus today.” She said simply without foreseeing the storm her words would bring about.   
  
Minutes stretched into hours as their discussion took a heated turn. And much to Bonnie's chagrin, neither Dark-Hunter seemed willing to stand by her when she suggested she should be the only one approaching Niklaus Mikaelson.   
  
    “Absolutely not.” A seething Kyrian interjected with unyielding resolution causing her temper to flare in return. She would have appreciated his concern, even teased him as she practically watched steam coming out of his ears and flared nostrils had it not been for blinding exasperation.   
  
With a parent's patience, Acheron brought a suggestion to the table where both committed to a compromise, successfully toning down their legendary bullheadedness.   
  
Sporting a smug smile, saturated with sheer satisfaction, Bonnie ventured into the Mikaelson's den. In a move that could only be attributed to a politician well versed in the world of argumentative disputes, Bonnie had conceded to bring Acheron and Nick (shame on Kyrian for submitting to the will of a mere plebeian, a man bred into the intricacies of kingdoms and its politics) to a game to wordplay. Kyrian's tempestuous protests still rang in her ears but victory was, ultimately, hers.   
  
Her demeanor darkened when Klaus came into view. Arrogance bled from him in his descent from his private chamber to the foyer. Like royalty. A King. And a fraudulent one at that, since no real blue blood run in his veins.   
  
    “Bonnie Bennett. What a sight for sore eyes. Every time I see you, you look even more stunning.” Indisputable charisma oozed from every pore without effort or thought. It came as naturally as the dimpled smile he threw at her mercilessly. “To what do I owe this pleasure? I see you find yourself in fine company.”  
  
    “We need to talk.” The urgency in her voice enough to convince him to take the serious route. “Alone.”  
  
The last bit came as a surprise to her escorts. Drenched in that cold water she had just poured over their heads, Acheron vehemently disagreed.   
  
    “I don't think that's wise, Bonnie. Besides, Kyrian will most certainly go into cardiac arrest when he learns of this. What ever have we done to you, woman? You're single-handedly compromising my ability to procreate. Well, not mine. But definitely Nick's. He will have my balls for this.”  
  
    “Relax, will you? He's not cutting your appendages. Or Nick's.”  
  
Nick Gautier had strangely been quiet through the entire interaction and the looming threat and visualization of the loss of his own body parts. Naturally, he chose the poorest moment to speak up. Leave it to the Cajun to be smart mouthed in the most inappropriate situations.   
  
    “Mais, you best keep him leashed, cher. I ain't gonna die a virgin!”  
  
With a shake of head complemented by wicked amusement dancing in her eyes, Bonnie followed Klaus into his private study. Sitting behind a beautifully mahogany carved desk, he invited her to take a seat before him.   
  
    “And what is it that has Miss Bonnie Bennett scared enough that she would face one of her enemies?” The light of humour did nothing to ease the sudden trepidation closing in on her.   
  
    “Let's not do this dance and get straight to the point. I know of the war you wage, Klaus. And it needs to stop. You need to stop it. You have no idea of the devils you are welcoming into your midst if you don't swallow your damn pride. I came here, in good faith, to warn you of a much bigger predator that will easily have you and the Mikaelson clan destroyed along with every other supernatural creature living in New Orleans. For the sake of the city you claim to love so much, I advise you to heed my warning.”  
  
Feral rage spurred the beast within. Glowing yellow eyes threatened her in silence, every drop of venom meant to instill the fear of the gods in her but, despite initial apprehension, Bonnie Bennett was not easily scared, especially when the devil was one she had experience dealing with. Features untainted by any traces of the wraith of terror, her back leaned against the cushioned wood from the chair as her hands remained rested upon her knees.   
  
    “You done?”   
  
Aware of the potentially dangerous predicament she had brought upon herself, her eyebrows rose in curious, slightly condescending, inquiry. But even the devil knew which battles to pick from, and Klaus' mind offered him the memory of Bonnie Bennett standing above him, in her literal and metaphorical superiority —effortless regality bleeding from her, while he lied on the ground, squirming in lifetime's worth of pain. His primal instincts kicked into gear, taming the hungry urge to strike before further onslaught. A rare occurrence for a creature infamous for his beastly tendencies. Then, he stood and offered his hand to her.   
  
    “Walk with me.”  
  
Side by side, the both of them navigated through the busy streets of New Orleans, consumed in somber topic that had brought her here as they threw valid argument after tenacious argument in a power display. Yet Bonnie's main concern never deviated from the city's wellbeing and its inhabitants.   
  
    “Dammit, Klaus. Can't you see?” Frustration clawed at her, pushing her into the sea of near desperation to will this obstinate creature to recognize the evil lurking about. “This thirst for power will lead you nowhere if everyone is dead. Will you risk your family? I have seen these Daimons up and close and their tactics don't come with failure. They are highly trained and prepared for every scenario. Only these hunters, the Dark-Hunters, have the skills to fight them! You can't be this stupidly blind.”   
  
With a grunt, her foot slapped the ground beneath it as she folded her arms in supplicant comprehension. “At least say you'll attend this meeting the guys and I are organizing. If coalition between every faction fails, I'm afraid you're all condemned to a dark fate. Myself included, since I've stumbled into this.”  
  
Klaus' hybrid nature fed him with the same strange sense of obligation radiating off of the little witch, adamantly bewitching into agreeing to her terms. A newfound appreciation for the woman came into being, ancient wisdom complimented her every word as she presented her case. But he had another to worry about —his unborn child. A creature wrapped in innocence, unprepared for the vile world that would welcome him/her. And like any wolf expecting a cub, the urge to protect his offspring rose above any and all other priorities. In blinding urgency. He recognized the peril behind the loss of sight for other matters.   
  
    “I hear you, Miss Bennett. But there is one thing that has escaped your knowledge. Hayley Marshall is carrying my child.”   
  
The drop of that bomb silenced her as every thread of thought forced itself into conjuring all explanations that could verify his claim. And as a Nature's servant, keeper of the power's balance, there was only one interpretation left.   
  
    “You're innately a wolf. And wolves can procreate...” She mumbled, half awed, half terrified of the meaning behind the creation of this particular Nature's loophole.   
  
    “It seems that is the most acceptable and valid explanation for this special child.”  
  
And for the first time, Bonnie understood. Her own drive to protect her loved ones brought her into dark roads more often than she could count. How could she judge a father for his instinct to protect his child? Even if blinded and imprisoned by paranoia's hands?   
  
 **Shit.**    
  
No. **Double shit.**  
  
If she had doubts about her ability to convince him before, she definitely wasn't going to succeed now.   
  
    “And these creatures you speak of are the least of my concerns for the time being, dearest Bonnie. There is one foe who lurks, her eyes set on my child. And I will not have her take my child from our arms over a bargain made thousands of years ago by my foolish mother.”  
  
Their escape from the Mikaelson's compound had been, without a doubt, monitored by the ever enigmatic Acheron Parthenopaeus who stood at the main entrance, large arms crossed over his chest. His eyes hidden behind the impenetrable black of unremovable sunglasses, he reminded her of a professional body guard whose job forbid any form of entertainment or exhibition of emotions. The ghost-like fury she sensed didn't rise from unfounded assumption though. It embraced her in a hold that nearly drove her to hide behind Rebekah as she joined the assembled group, flaunting a radiance that reflected the beams of sunlight kissing beautiful tresses that fell over her shoulders with elegant fashion. The two of them found themselves surrounded by Bonnie's chosen companions and Klaus' most trusted siblings. Elijah followed Rebekah with a very pregnant Hayley trailing behind him. Finally, another ventured toward their group, her gait unsteady as if testing the waters on whether she would be welcomed or not. Bonnie grew curious of her but the sight of Hayley's extended belly robbed her focus from the newcomer to the child unborn.   
  
    “Holy gods. It is true...” Words fell in whispering tones, surprising herself and those who guarded the newest addiction to their family.   
  
Nick scratched the back of his head, awkwardly. Acheron studied the scene unfolding before him. And Bonnie ran her fingers through her hair, to hide the minor tremble she felt brewing.   
  
    “Klaus, I—. . .”  
  
He interrupted her. “I will put into consideration your warnings and worries, give it some thought and send you word on my final decision.”   
  
The proposition hadn't been the one she was looking for initially but the scales had undergone dramatic change. And for the time being, Bonnie and the others found their hands tied on the Mikaelson's end.   
  
Now, to bring the wolves and witches to the table, Bonnie held the belief it wouldn't be as tough of a task.   
  
With subtle inclination of her head, silent agreement exchanged between the two as Bonnie bid the whole of the Mikaelson clan adieu before vacating the premises with both Nick and Acheron guarding her flanks.   
  
Negotiations stretched time from just several days to a few weeks, culminating in a couple of months. Witches, stubborn in spirit, refused to sit with the wolf and vampire respective brethren. Vampires clung to their vanity and greed for power and dominion over those they believed to be the lesser beings. And wolves thought only of their pride and animal-like characteristics that differentiated them from humanity's infections, schemes bred from purest evil as jealousy and unchanging greed fomented such deviations from the righteous path.   
  
Bonnie's fist grazed Kyrian's cheek.   
  
    “Unpredictability is your biggest ally in a fight. Daimons are quick studies, your tactic must be one ever-changing.”   
  
Beads of sweat trickled down from all over her body. Forehead, neck, chest, back. His gaze trained on a particular droplet rolling down into the obscurity of the valley of her breasts, the trained warrior licked his lips subconsciously. Her heart strained to even its rhythm but to no avail. Confined to Kyrian's gymnasium, the both of them danced around one another in a game of opportunity and educational battle skills that she implored he taught her. Their routine had begun weeks prior when she stumbled into him training by himself.   
  
    “Watch your left flank, Bonnie. Remember to stay alert at all times. Maintain your body weight balanced between your feet, you don't want to lose it as an enemy collides with you.”   
  
She nodded, taking note of every piece of advice, criticism. The ancient Commander taunted his disciple with methodically delivered blows that had her stretching, bending and maneuvering her body to his heart's content. And cock's. He just couldn't contain his insatiable hunger for a taste of exotic flesh that promised heavenly pleasure.   
  
But shame refused to take residence in him. Tugging two wooden practice swords off the wall, he quickly tossed one her way to commence their next round of physical sparring. The plan was simple. First, he would indulge her in a match of clashing swords, bringing added stamina into their combat to drain her faster.   
  
    “What did Rosa put in your breakfast today?” Bonnie asked with a grunt whilst struggling to deflect every blow dealt.   
  
Inwardly, he smirked. For him, magic exuded from her dance of spontaneous movements that brought the wood of her practice sword into collision with his. Natural twirls guided her lithe body, her arms floating with regal grace as she lifted her weapon for her defense. But she didn't stop there. Bonnie Bennett held the stance of a warrior bred in long abandoned ranks of old war soldiers. When opportunity presented its hand to her, there was no hesitation to take it.   
  
Her attack was a thing of lethal beauty.   
  
But Kyrian hid a few tricks up his sleeve. Years past in the battlefields of political and territorial wars had educated him on the dirtiest manoeuvres only veteran soldiers specialized in. She didn't even see it coming. And with inhuman speed, he rolled his dice and played his cards. The right ones.   
  
No mistakes allowed.   
  
Nurturing her confidence, it wasn't too long until her tactic painted strokes of enthusiastic boldness in the canvas of momentary exhilaration. In the midst of her euphoric victory, as she gained advantage over her worthy opponent, the old dog of war bared his teeth in playful revelation of his trickery.   
  
With a single blow, dealt with impeccable precision, bleeding the authority a Commander was expected to, his sword brought loss of her equilibrium. She stumbled to the padded floor, landing on her back. He followed, not even a heartbeat later. The crooked grin on his lips brought a smile to hers as he hovered over her, both drenched in sweat. Accommodating his body to female curves, Kyrian rarely shied away from burning desires. Through his shorts, his erection spiked Bonnie's own lustful cravings. As her heart sped up into violent tempo, the flames of infernal hunger lick her soul in simultaneous guidance of her hands as fingers fondle that tawny skin that she swore was made to be licked, every inch tasted.   
  
This dance between them had its birth early on. From the very beginning, both gravitated toward one another, drowning in a river of lust neither could quite comprehend. It drove them to madness boulevard with its scorching want, a desire left incomplete in the hands of initial attraction. But completion slapped the both of them with soulful stirrings in the graveyard of pieces of broken hearts.   
  
His kiss came without surprise. It had been long since they last walked on eggshells around each other, and familiarized with the presence of the other, new routines stumbled into their days. Silent affections exchanged. Ardently, soft lips secured hers in passionate resonance of a forbidden affair. Time, much like everything else, faded and lost meaning.   
  
The world shrank until only the two of them remained.   
  
Bonnie's lungs soon ached from prolonged denial of air, compelling her to drive the frigidity of space between their mouths. Gaze unfocused, inebriation clung to them as she found herself floating in the male scent of him. Her lips parted, drawing air into her body.   
  
One single thought haunted her.   
  
The last of her defenses crumbled beneath the weight of his gaze's intensity, it was too late when realization dropped a bucket of cold reality over her head.   
  
And her secret was no more.   
  
     **“I love you.”**

 


End file.
